


Bad Poetry

by Dryad



Series: Poetry X [3]
Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M, Poetry X, Season 8-ish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-24
Updated: 2013-05-24
Packaged: 2017-12-12 19:35:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/815220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dryad/pseuds/Dryad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You see here before you<br/>A woman with a mission</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bad Poetry

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for the X Files Lyric Wheel: [ The Sixteenth Wheel: The Beginnings Wheel](http://www.hegalplace.com/xflyricwheel/wheel16.htm)

She writes bad poetry.  
That's the plain truth of it.

Oh, she'd like to be one  
of those people who can  
go on song without missing  
a beat, but she's really more  
like the mis-heard version  
of that Stevie Nicks tune,  
y'know, the one winged dove?

A one winged dove.  
How sad.

She feels all romantical, as   
if little wing-ed hearts are   
fluttering around her head, as  
if Disney bluebirds are   
serenading her gaily from trees  
as she walks by.

A pretty straight-forward kind  
of gal, she's never before had  
so much difficulty telling the   
skinny.

And yet, she's unsure of her  
position. A long term acquaintance,   
albeit one broken by time, it  
had never occurred to her that   
she might have the opportunity  
to do more than gaze from afar.

He is, however, obsessed, and   
not with her.

Wherein lies her dilemma. 

She's not sure if she should just  
go for it, make the moves, do   
the do, or step back, relax,  
and see what happens. After  
all, there's a big difference  
between having to go to the   
mountain and having the mountain   
come to you. Like any rational  
person, she would prefer  
the latter, free will and all   
that. Some would argue that  
rationality is not her strong  
point, and when it matters she's  
inclined to disagree even more  
than usual.

And there is his perfectly  
healthy, perfectly normal  
'knight in shining armor'  
thing to deal with, too.  
She finds that aspect of his   
character rather sweet. If  
not necessarily that he does  
it to the object of his obsession.

Which is unfair to said object,  
who is in the midst of her own grief   
and desperate search. Yet, to be  
kind, Dana is not unaware of John's  
regard, and certainly has not   
encouraged his endeavors.

It's a waiting game, a crap shoot,  
a half-dozen of any other common  
sayings. 

So in the meantime, while she thumbs  
her twiddles and lashes her bats,   
she'll write bad poetry.

~*~

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

~*~

 

_Lyrics courtesy of Rose Campion:_

_A Stranger Here Myself  
Kurt Weill/Ogden Nash_

_Tell me, is love still a popular suggestion_  
or merely an obsolete art?  
Forgive me for asking this simple question,  
I'm unfamiliar with this part.  
I am a stranger here myself. 

_Why is it wrong, to murmur I adore you?_  
When it's shamefully obvious I do.  
Does love embarass him?  
Or does it bore him?   
I'm only waiting for my cue.  
I am a stranger here myself. 

_I dream of a day, of a gay warm day,_  
with my face between his hands.  
Have I missed the path?   
Have I gone astray?  
I ask and no one understands. 

_Love me or leave me,_  
that seems to be the question.  
I don't know the tactics to use.  
But if you should offer a personal suggestion,  
how could I possibly refuse,  
when I'm a stranger here myself? 

_Please tell me, tell a stranger,_  
by curiousity goaded,  
is there really any danger,   
that love is now outmoded? 

_I'm interested especially_  
in knowing why you waste it.  
True romance is so precious.  
with what have you replaced it?  
What is your latest foilble?  
Is skiing more enjoyable?  
For heavens' sake what is it? 

_I can't believe that_  
love has lost its glamour.  
That passion is really passe.  
If gender is just a term in grammar,  
how will I ever find my way   
since I'm a stranger here myself? 

_How can he ignore my available condition?_  
Why these Victorian views?  
You see here before you,  
a woman with a mission.  
I must discover the key to his ignition.  
And then if he should make a diplomatic proposition,  
how could I possibly refuse,  
how could I possibly refuse,  
when I'm a stranger here myself? 


End file.
